A Living Reminder
by bethmovedon
Summary: After five years of trying to forget, circumstances in Hermione's life are forcing her to face the past. A death, the inability to distract herself anymore, and the unwelcome return of an ex-lover has penetrated her serene (empty) existence. RR, please
1. Stirring up the Past

A/N: Up until now, I've been an avid reader, serial reviewer, and unabashed fangirl of fan fiction here at Checkmated and elsewhere. I am impressed (and a little intimidated) by the amazing display of writing ability in the world of fan fiction. 

Thank you to Jane, who is a source of inspiration to me, as both a writer and my beta.

Chapter 1: Stirring Up the Past

Hermione stared up at her nanny with wide brown eyes, her chin jutted out stubbornly. Even at just over three feet tall, she was imposing and bossy. She was always questioning everything, to the point of driving Nanny Jenkins mad.

"Why?"

"Because I said so, Hermione Granger, now do it!" Nanny was fast losing her patience.

"But _why_?" Hermione needed a better reason than _because I said so_ to choke down the large bitter vegetables.

"It's good for you."

"How is it good for me? It tastes yucky." She stabbed one of the offensive little buggers with her fork, held it up to her nose, and made a dramatically disgusted face.

"It's good for you because….because…oh, I give up. Go watch television." Nanny's voice, though exasperated, held a hint of laughter.

"I don't **wanna**. Daddy says the telly is rotting the brains of society." 

"Then go do _some_thing! Cor! You drive me to distraction!" Exasperation had won over amusement. Nanny snatched the plate from the table and began washing up.

Hermione puffed loudly, and then stomped up to her room, her fluffy brown ponytail bouncing. She knew why her nanny had given up so easily. The last time she'd been trying to force a hated green vegetable down her throat, the entire plate had mysteriously disappeared…into thin air.

At four years old Hermione knew she was different. She didn't know why, or even how, but she knew…

***

Smiling a little at the almost forgotten memory, Hermione daubed at her streaming eyes, hidden beneath the wide-brimmed, veiled hat. Her wild hair had been forced into a tight chignon, but strands were escaping, clinging to the nape of her neck, sticking to her face. The muggy climate was suffocating. 

Her heart grew heavy again as the lightness of heart she had felt moments before receded along with the vision from twenty years ago. Feeling as though she couldn't breathe, she removed the somewhat ridiculous, black hat from her overheated head. She no longer needed the veil as she was the last of the small crowd of mourners.

Hermione studied the simple gravestone: 

__

Victoria Elizabeth Jenkins

Born: September 15, 1954

Died: July 15, 2004

There was no lovely sentiment, not even Rest in Peace. The freshly mounded earth would soon be trodden flat, and Nanny Jenkins would be just another unexceptional plot in a sea of unremarkable headstones. She should have contributed something to the cost of the funeral, she thought, wincing. They had let Nanny Jenkins go upon Hermione's acceptance at Hogwarts, but she had remained a close part of the family for years as she had had no one else. The fact that she had lost touch with her former nanny (and only true childhood friend before Hogwart's) in recent years weighed heavily on her conscious.

Unable to withstand the thick atmosphere any longer, Hermione started toward the path to the entrance. At first, she did her best not to trod on any discernable graves, then shook her head and her own illogical superstitions. Before that thought even finished processing, the fine hairs on the back of her neck rose. Subconsciously quickening her pace, she was bombarded with more recent memories. Not of her nanny this time, but of others. Visions of a gory battle, a noble sacrifice, and countless human remains--some of which she recognized--strewn on burned patches of grass floated through her mind. 

Habitually forcing these unwelcome thoughts into their customary dusty little boxes at the back of her mind, Hermione was flat-out running by the time she reached the gate. She grasped her knees, assuming a somewhat ungraceful pose, and attempted to control her rapid breathing, all the while trying to look everywhere at once. No one was there. No one she could see anyway. Gradually, her heart rate returned to normal, and she straightened.

Her senses were heightened. Sweat trickled down her spine, making her slightly out-of-fashion ankle-length dress stick to her skin. The slightest of breezes rustled through the trees, making a the frizzy halo of hair that had escaped with the removal of her hat tickle her cheek. The oppressive heat made her feel heavy, as though rooted to the ground. 

After one last leery look around revealed nothing, she disapparated to her flat.

***

Everything was in perfect order; nothing was out of place. The floors, windows, walls, even the ceiling sparkled. After donning her usual shorts and tank, Hermione had resorted to cleaning the "Muggle way" in a futile attempt to distract herself. Finally, she gave in. She was exhausted. 

Emotions she hadn't allowed to surface for five years were perilously close to bursting the bubble of denial she had been living in for so long. Pushing them back, yet again, she started undressing for her bath. It was only a matter of time before there would be no more holding back; everyone has limits, even a strong-willed woman such as Hermione Granger.

As she slipped into the steaming, lavender-scented water, her mind emptied of all thought. For the first time in a week since her mother had sent a terse note about Nanny Jenkins' passing, she was at peace. Nice…the bubble bath potion was almost like a sleeping draught, but much less potent. She enjoyed it for a good three minutes before loud knocking on the door interrupted.

She smiled wryly. Hermione knew of only one person that would bother her this late at night. He was the only person in the world who had a key to her apartment, and he still knocked.

"Harry?"

"Yeah, it's me."

"Let yourself in, I'll be out in a few minutes." Hermione felt the indulgent smile slip from her face as another deeper voice, one she hadn't been prepared for, penetrated her serene environment. At this she struggled out of the tub, sloshing water all over the dark blue tiles, and threw on her dressing gown.

Ron looked up as she burst through the door, mystified that smoke actually seemed to be coming out of her ears. She just glowered at him wordlessly, and then turned her murderous gaze on Harry. As Harry calmly stared back, not cowering as he might have a few years ago, Ron felt the panic subside a bit, finally realizing that the "smoke" was a result of their interrupting her bath. 

Steam was rising off her heated skin--skin that was barely covered by the short silk dressing gown she had hastily wrapped around her too-thin frame. Ron focused on one droplet of water that ran down her face, making a path down her throat, only to disappear into the folds of her gown right between the slight curves of her breasts.. He tugged at his collar as he felt his own ears grow warm.

Hermione regained control of her faculties enough to ground out through clenched teeth, "What--is--_he_--doing--here?" 

A/N: I would greatly appreciate reviews, as this is my first attempt at fan fiction.


	2. Avoiding reality

A/N: Many apologies for the delay. I had a hard time fleshing out the story for various reasons. Thank you to those who blessed me with encouragement. Special thanks to Jane and Dindranesdefender for their extremely helpful suggestions.

Avoiding Reality

"What--is--_he_--doing--here?" 

He had known this wasn't going to be easy, but he needed a way in. The last year had been hell; he had done a lot of soul searching. His heart was beating furiously, sweat popped out on his forehead, acid churned in his stomach. He needed this to go well. 

"We're both here because we care, Hermione." Harry's voice was reasonable and somewhat censoring. Hermione was not chastised.

"You care. You _care_? So you show up here, uninvited, bringing-bringing _him_ with you." Hermione stabbed Ron with another fierce look. 

She was so beautiful when she was angry. Eyes snapping, face flushed, chest heaving…Harry and Hermione's voices faded as an oft-relived memory drifted into his mind…

He watched her from the shadows as she rubbed her temple for the fifth time in as many minutes. Decision made, he slipped into the room, somehow managing not to trip over the piles. Before she could react, he swooped down and snatched her book. She shrieked and scrambled up. When she saw him, she deflated, then immediately puffed back up in irritation.

"RON! Give me back my book! I need to study!" She had her arms crossed under small breasts and was stamping her foot in indignation. There were ink stains on her fingers and arms, tiny cuts from handling too much parchment, dark circles under her eyes. She had been working too hard--as usual.

"Hermione, Hermione, Hermione. You need to take a break." Ron moved away from her, holding her book in a loose grip by his side. She nearly caught him off guard when she made a desperate grab for it, so he raised it high in the air out of her reach.

"I do not_ need a break, Ron. Breaks are all _you_ think about. If you're not careful, you'll get fewer NEWTs than you did OWLS--if that's possible." She sniffed. _

Ron's arms lowered slightly as he was filled with righteous anger. Hermione made another attempt to get her book, hopping on tiptoes, stretching as far as she could. He pulled it away at the last second, eyes narrowed.

"I did okay on the OWLs, thank you," Ron said. 

"Not nearly as well as you could have." She made to punch him in the stomach, but he turned and allowed the blow to glance off his arm. 

"So you're saying the Weasley King is an untapped genius in addition to being a Quidditch prodigy?" Ron grinned when she froze. An uncertain look chased a flash of amusement across her face before she stifled it.

"I am saying_ you do not even come close to your potential when it comes to your studies," she replied, her voice prim. She ignored Ron's smirk and continued, "Now, I need my book, if you would please."_

"You've studied enough; you could take the NEWTs in your sleep and still do better than everyone else. Now, there's a trip to Hogsmeade--"

"RONALD WEASLEY, GIVE ME MY BOOK RIGHT THIS MINUTE OR I'LL--" Hermione broke off, panting slightly.

"You'll what? You've already tried to physically attack me," Ron feigned a wounded look.

"I'll do something drastic," Hermione warned. He laughed inwardly. Her wand was tucked in his own robes, having snatched it off the floor while she was still buried in her notes. 

"What can you do without your wand?" He asked it with a toothy grin. Her face paled as she searched the pockets of her robes and her eyes scanned the area around her feet. She took a deep breath, and he watched, distracted, as her chest heaved in response. His eyes flicked back to her face immediately when she cleared her throat.

He jerked back when she made a sudden move in his direction, coming up with a closed door. Slightly panicked at what this vengeful female might do--visions of Malfoy writhing in agony as a result of a minor curse from said female not two weeks ago flashing through his mind--he started to stutter.

"H-H-Hermione, now, let's not be hasty--" His protests were cut off when she threw her arms around his neck and pulled his head down to smash their lips together. It wasn't much of a kiss, but it was enough to scramble his mind. Hermione's eyes were squeezed tightly shut and her hands gripped his shoulders, holding him firmly to her. She pulled back and stared at him, an almost comically shocked expression on her face. Before she could say anything, he leaned down and touched his lips to hers again, more softly this time. His arms, tired from holding the heavy book, dropped, loosening his hold enough that the book fell to the floor. His hands found the small of her back and pressed her closer.

Ron was so involved in the feel of her lips under his that he was completely unprepared for the sudden fist in the gut. Hermione darted away, book clasped in her arms, almost tripping as she snatched her backpack off the floor. He sank down and sat on his haunches, gasping a little, more from the shock of her kiss and its implications rather than the small fist bouncing off his flat stomach….

"Shut the door!" Hermione's sudden shriek startled Ron out of his reverie. Reacting on instinct, he slammed the door so hard a picture sitting on a table by the door fell to the floor, occupants screaming.

Ron heard a plaintive meow and looked down to see the familiar flat face of Hermione's ginger cat staring up at him in disgust. Ah, a distraction.

"Foiled your escape attempt, eh old mate?" Ron grinned and bent down to pet him. "At least _someone _hasn't forgotten me," he remarked when the fat cat stretched and purred salaciously. He rubbed against Ron's arms, soliciting more attention. Ron laughed and complied, picking the cat up, grunting and groaning dramatically. "What are you feeding this _little_ guy?"

Hermione, paused in the act of picking up the broken frame, looked nonplussed. The angry words that had hung in the air were gone, as was a large percentage of the tension. "He's not _that _big, Ron. He's healthy."

Grinning at her cheekily, he walked over to the couch and sat down, settling Crookshanks in his lap while Harry unsuccessfully tried to hide a smirk at Hermione's obvious bewilderment. He patted her arm as he walked by and sat beside Ron, scratching Crookshanks behind the ears as Ron murmured.

"You know, Pigwidgeon would probably love to see you. You remember Pig, right? He's still a twittering little mess--crazy owl. Drives me nutters." Ron smiled as Crookshanks purred even louder, turning his fat head to stare up into Ron's eyes. "It's like he understands me."

Ron turned to smile at Hermione. She had an odd, almost wistful expression on her face. When she saw him looking at her, she smiled back tentatively. Encouraged, he shifted and started to say something else, but suddenly she froze. A look of horror passed across her face, eyes filling with tears. Ron panicked and started to rise, then swore as Crookshanks hissed, digging his nails into Ron's thighs. The commotion seemed to startle Hermione into action.

"I'll--I'll go fix some coffee." Her voice broke on the first word, but she lifted her chin defensively and strode from the room. 

Harry turned to Ron with a raised brow. 

"What?" Ron scowled. It wasn't his fault she was a basketcase.

"Aren't you going to follow her?" Harry spoke with infuriating calm.

"You don't understand, Harry. You've never understood us." Ron attempted to control a spurt of resentment. Harry didn't deserve his ire, especially since Ron didn't quite understand what had happened either. He opened his mouth to apologize, cut off as Harry waved a hand in dismissal.

"Don't worry about it. I understand more than you think, though, Ron. I may not have been involved, but I was." Ron didn't have time to try to decipher Harry's cryptic words as a sudden crash came from the kitchen.

"Hermione!" Ron scrambled up, ignoring Crookshanks' spits, and raced to the kitchen.

She was standing in the middle of the room, staring at the floor, an empty tray in her shaking hands. At her feet were the fragmented remains of what looked like two mugs of coffee and a plate of biscuits. He slowly pulled the wand out of his robe to clean up the mess. She burst into a flurry of movement. 

"No, Ron, I'll get it. It's fine. Put that away." Hermione spoke quickly, her nervousness evident in erratic movements for a dishtowel. 

"Nothing's changed, has it?" It was a statement, one that Hermione ignored. He sighed, watching as she swept up the glass fragments and mopped up the spill, her movements jerky.

She carried the broken shards to the waste bin. "I don't know what you're referring to." 

"You don't." Ron controlled the urge to roll his eyes.

"No, I don't, and if you'll excuse me, I need to make some more coffee." Her haughtiness almost made him smile. 

Ron sighed again, frustrated. She kept glancing at him furtively, her face progressively tightening. He made a move toward her, and she turned on him, holding up a hand to fend him off.

"What exactly are you doing here, Ron? I've made it abundantly clear that I don't want to be around you." Her face reddened, the knuckles of her other hand white from a death grip on the pot.

"Why? What did I do? To this day, I have no idea why you left. I have no idea why we fought all the time, over stupid little things that meant nothing!"

Her face contorted, eyes welling up. Ron's fury dissipated. 

"No, no, Hermione, don't do that. Don't cry." He dug in his robes for a scrap of cloth and came up empty. His steps were tentative as he moved toward her, hands shook as he pulled her close. She held herself stiffly for a moment, then shocked him to the core as she buried her face in his chest, arms snaking around his waist. Ron couldn't help but register how lovely she felt against him, and was horrified when his nose starting to tingle and tears rushed to his eyes. 

***

Hermione breathed in his scent, a mix of earth, soot, and wood. Feelings of well-being and safety flooded through her, harmful thoughts a mere echo. Ron tried to pull away slightly, but she kept her face buried, sniffling. He rubbed her back, awkwardly at first, then smoothed over the thin material of her dressing gown, pressing her closer.

A distant pop barely registered in her fogged mind as lips pressed against her tangled, still-wet hair. This was Ron. Her Ron. Hers. She heard his shuddering sigh next to her ear and was flooded with guilt. It was her fault. Everything.

She clung to him desperately, pulling him down slightly to press her lips against his throat. He stilled; his breath whooshed out, ruffling the slight hairs at her hairline.

"Hermione--"She reached up and covered his lips clumsily with her hands. He tensed and made a protesting sound, but at her pleading whimper, he hesitated. She held her breath until he relaxed and kissed her fingers. Her eyes fluttered, and she gave an embarrassing breathy moan of pleasure.

Blindly, she pulled his face down to hers and dragged her lips across his face until they found his. Her mouth opened over his, tongue sliding across his lips, invading his mouth, stroking his tongue. Her hands tangled in his too long hair…

Hermione's mind started to seize, but she forced the images away, her kisses increasing in fervor. 

Ron's hands roamed her back; one slid down to grip her behind. Her movements became frantic, hands grabbing, groping; mouth everywhere--kissing, sucking, biting.

Ron started to pull away again, but she merely held him tighter.

"Hermione, Hermione, _please_--" She kissed his mouth again desperately, cutting off his words of protest. His body had just relaxed into her again when he jerked away forcefully. "This isn't right. You know it."

Hermione kept her eyes squeezed shut. "I need you." 

She started as he took her hand gently, then again as fingers brushed her face.

"This isn't the answer. It didn't work before--"

"I need you, Ron. Please." The words came from deep within her soul, forcing past her independence, her stubbornness, her fears. She knew if she could just touch him, be with him, everything would be okay. Just for tonight. That would be enough. It had to be.

His silence was draining her resolve. She started to turn away in embarrassed defeat, but he tugged on the hand he still held.

"Ok."

"Ok?" She stared at their entwined hands.

"Ok."

A/N part deux: There will be an NC-17 outtake from this story that will not be an essential read, but will be helpful. As a result, Chapter 3 might take a little while (not a month--ok a month and a half--this time, though, I swear). 


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